


i can weather the storm

by pistolgrip



Series: 12+1 days of siesixmas [3]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolgrip/pseuds/pistolgrip
Summary: The winters are cold, and Six resorts to desperate measures to stay warm. (Hopefully, no one sees him like this.)
Relationships: Siete | Seofon/Six | Seox (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: 12+1 days of siesixmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570165
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	i can weather the storm

The winters here are unlike anything he's experienced.

The derelict Karm hamlet, the place where Six was born and once called his final resting place, got hot in the summers and laughably _cool_ in the winters. The temperature and climate varied little, contributing to the nebulous concept he had of time while he was waiting there.

It wasn't until Six joined the Eternals that he found out just how fast time could pass, just how underdeveloped his perception of it was. Terra liked to take her time travelling, migrating to different locations depending on the season, and each season had drastic changes to the temperature and to the environment's appearance. He thinks that things move too fast, and what few moments he wants to hold onto slip away from his grasp in the space between one day to change to the next. The extreme variation between each season isn't the only offender—the constant missions, investigations, and spare time spent with the other nine make each day go faster.

Winter brings the worst changes. The crisp, refreshing air of autumn shows its cruel hand, and the snow freezes him deep to his core, even after it has long melted. Once, Esser told him that the winters they experienced were typical of a temperate climate, and that compared to other places in the skydom hardly a day's trip away, they were relatively warm. If he hadn't visited those places himself on missions, he wouldn't have believed her.

Terra has a place that she likes to migrate to for winter, and while the rest of the Eternals survive with only their fall uniforms well into early November, the cold is already unbearable for Six. Against the relentless wind, his skin feels like paper, and they still haven't had their first snow. Six admits that on the days when the sun is out and the wind is at a calming breeze, his fall uniform may be enough. But the majority of the missions he takes are at night or in the darkness, with no such source of warmth.

It's getting harder to hide how cold he is on missions, but if any of the Eternals notice, they don't say anything.

It affects him even on days off. Sleeplessness is a common problem for him, but only since he's become an Eternal has it been due to the temperature. To make matters worse, a cold front is sweeping the skydom, and every night the wind rattles his windows like a warning.

With all the layers he can gather piled on top of his comforter, Six still can't sleep, his chattering teeth the only thing louder than the wind shaking the glass of his window. Driven to desperation, he looks through his closet for his uniform's cape to add to his pile, when he sees something he banished to a corner.

Mask Bleu Clair sits on its hanger, and on another is its coat, too heavy to hang on the same one. Siete making the coat was a decision Six could never understand, as the mission he would have used it for took place in the early, humid May summer. And yet, Siete decided to unveil it with the rest of the outfit—layered, decorated, and most importantly, _warm._

He enters a staring competition with the mask hanging around the hanger, feeling his inevitably loss. His socked feet are freezing to the floor of his room with every second that he spends contemplating. His shivers jumble the thoughts around in his skull. He envisions the wind breaking the glass of his window into millions of shards, and then he gives in. With more force than necessary, he yanks at the coat, the hanger clattering to the ground, and wraps it around his shoulders. He grits his teeth and throws himself back into bed, Mask Bleu Clair's coat the closest layer to him, and moves the blankets on top of him again.

Sleeplessness is a common problem for him. On the contrary, sleeping as soundly as he does that night is unheard of.

* * *

Waking up is a shock, because he doesn't remember falling asleep. He jolts out of bed; by the intensity of the rays that seep between the curtains, it's too bright to think about letting the light in. He's disoriented, but the contentedness of a good night's sleep keeps him warm.

He crawls out of bed to grab a glass of water downstairs. He tries to stifle the violent coughs that threaten to burst his lungs, focusing on being quiet and putting one foot in front of the other despite his headache from oversleeping, and he thinks he's successful until he's downing his second glass in the kitchen and hears a voice behind him.

"Morning, Six!" Siete is filled with an amusement that Six isn't equipped for so early in the morning. He finishes his glass before putting it down with a loud _thunk_ , turning around with his mouth half-open, prepared to to comment—and then, he feels the faux fur tickle his cheek.

He closes his mouth with a clack of his teeth.

Around his shoulders is the Mask Bleu Clair coat. Even rumpled with sleep, it billows down to his calves, accentuating the dramatics of his annoyed turn to Siete. Before Six can get a word in, Siete's smile widens, interrupting his thoughts by saying, "I didn't think you'd ever wear that coat, let alone with pajamas, but you could start a new trend like this."

"Quiet," Six brings himself to say. At the _scathing_ comeback, Siete's grin widens. "Do not speak to me." Had he known he would be interrupted this morning, he would have prayed for anyone else to find him. Siete, as the man who created this outfit and the one most inclined to make jokes about _any_ situation, was the worst possible person that could have found him this morning.

He has no reason to feel as embarrassed as he is. He was cold, and he used what resources he had to give himself comfort. But something about Siete always elicits this feeling within him, where his face turns red and heat creeps up his neck and floods his cheeks, and he rises to justify himself. "I needed more warmth than my blankets could offer." Underneath the coat he has draped across his shoulders, he crosses his arms.

"Hey, I didn't say anything." Siete throws his hands up and grins, like there's a joke that he's privy to and not Six.

"Then stop mocking me. Leave so I may return to my room."

Siete does the exact opposite, walking up to him.

Six stands his ground as he looks him in the eye, but Siete doesn't waver. In fact, his expression softens, and Six feels the heat of embarrassment make a second lap through his body at the way Siete's eyes light up. "Just thought I'd lend a helping hand, since that's not how you're supposed to wear it. Didn't realize you needed a demonstration!"

Siete takes the coat off his shoulders, but with the constant stream of embarrassment he's currently facing, Six no longer feels cold, even with the chill skating across his exposed back. "Stick your arms out," Siete insists.

Six's arms stay crossed. "I know how to wear a coat."

"I'm not so sure." He holds the coat up like a matador with a cape, and Six yanks it from his hands before pushing past him to return to his room.

* * *

The incident leaves a mark on his thoughts. The amount of effort he puts into trying to forget Siete only makes him more persistent in his memory, and he concedes defeat during the first snow of the season.

He has to make a delivery at Sierokarte's today, but he's cold before he finishes getting dressed in his own room. With no other choice, he grabs the coat from the hanger again and shoves his arms through the sleeves with all the frustration he can muster.

Instead of using the front door, he decides to take the back exit, with the hope that he wouldn't see Siete while dressed like this. As if hearing his single, silent plea, Siete comes in from the backyard, shaking snow off of his shoulders and wiping his boots.

Six freezes in the doorway, but it's too late to turn around. Siete lifts his head, and upon seeing Six, his lips curl into the same smile that makes heat rise in Six's gut—the heat of embarrassment, challenge, irritation. However, unlike the previous time they met like this, his mask covers his entire face, giving him an extra barrier when interacting. "Going out?" Siete asks, keeping eye contact as he unties his boots.

He doesn't want to answer. He tries to pass by Siete, but Siete extends an arm to stop him. "Six, you're gonna be cold like that, y'know?"

"No change from the previous winters I've experienced since becoming an Eternal."

Siete's eyebrows raise, and his smile falls by a fraction. "You really should've said something if you get that cold—but if you insist on going out today, here."

Siete puts his hands on Six's shoulders and moves him so they're standing in front of each other. When Siete's hands move toward his stomach, he inhales sharply, and Siete looks back up at him, holding both sides of the open coat in his hands. "You good? You need to button this up."

Six is too shocked by the motion to think about pushing him away, and Siete hums while buttoning the coat up to the highest button, underneath his neck. His hands are cold where they brush against his skin, against the underside of his jaw, and Six forgets to breathe.

He thinks the torture is done, until Siete's lips pout with contemplation. None of his protests are fast enough to stop Siete's hands brushing against his neck, finding the hood and pulling it over his head and over his eyes.

He doesn't need this. He feels much too warm now for a coat this thick. As a final touch, Siete removes his own scarf to wrap around Six's neck; his grin has turned mischievous, enjoying playing dress-up with Six's frozen body. "There we go," Siete announces, putting his hands on his hips. "Nice and toasty."

Thanking him is out of the question—Siete invaded his personal space, delayed his mission, and—Six struggles to find a third reason. He dedicates several seconds to the pursuit, in which Siete continues to stare at him. Again, he fails.

He gives a curt nod and turns to the door, seeking escape.

Six has never been good with the cold before, but now, he craves it, hoping it'll cool down his face burning up. He needs to cool down until his skin feels as cold as Siete's fingers brushing against his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song _I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm_. Look, I had to work in at least _one_ fic-named-after-another-jazz-standard during SieSixmas.
> 
> Also, I still don’t think I’ve written a fic where Six wears any of Siete’s actual clothing à la boyfriend shirt… I’ve failed you all…


End file.
